


In which Albert gets acquainted with local customs

by laughingpineapple



Series: There Were Always Two [6]
Category: Twin Peaks
Genre: M/M, Missing Scene, Unresolved Romantic Tension, shameless fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-17
Updated: 2016-05-17
Packaged: 2018-06-09 01:45:32
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 899
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6883939
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/laughingpineapple/pseuds/laughingpineapple
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Things you said too quietly. Looking for comfort, on the evening after Coop gets shot. (ep.9 missing moment)</p>
            </blockquote>





	In which Albert gets acquainted with local customs

So Dale Cooper now just barges in at ten thirty PM, spry as a chicken, when Albert has barely checked in to his room at the Great Northern, barely made his peace with the rustic chic of these four walls as a temporary protection from the dreaded country life outside, hasn't even lit himself a cigarette yet let alone unpacked his suitcase. Let him breathe and recoup, deep in hostile territory.

Instead he gets one eager colleague knocking at his door and sliding inside as soon as Albert cracks it open, before he even draws breath to complain.

  
  


“This eager to be brought up to speed?”

Hurled like an accusation, as often happens with Albert's questions. But he he was drawing his breath to complain after all, and Albert Rosenfield was never one to half-ass things. It's a violation of privacy, is what this is, Albert was setting up a perimeter of defense against having to think of Cooper bleeding out on these same wooden tiles and there comes the man himself to rustle all his thoughts.

He would like to reserve the right to worry and feel miserable all by himself. Yet Coop’s response - raised hand and a pleading look that dictates that work can wait until tomorrow or he’ll be very sad (perish the thought!) - robs Albert of that and of any peace of mind he may have gathered in preparation for the night. He can see the exhaustion in his partner’s eyes, dark bags matching the black eye he himself got that morning at the airport, and his porcelain skin drained by blood loss.

  
  


And then, of course, like the ridiculous, preposterous human being he is, Dale Cooper proceeds to sit on Albert’s bed, kick off his shoes and perch himself on the mattress, cross-legged.

  
  


“That's the etiquette now?”

“Local customs”, Coop answers with a shrug. “Although in retrospect I will say that it works better with a master key.”

Inquiring any further looks like a highway to secondhand embarrassment, paved with information he won't be able to unhear. Glaring will do. But if he cannot talk about work, and presumably cannot grab him by his tie, pin him to the mattress and kiss him until dawn, Albert has capital letter Issues with the sight of Cooper making himself at home in his goddamn bed. With a sigh, he takes two steps away from it.

  
  


“Not a single dim light on the horizon. Civilization must’ve realized the dire futility of its efforts a long time ago and packed”, Albert says, leaning out of the window, gaze trained to the dark tree line outside. “The silence here could kill a man. I’ll bet that half an afternoon browsing through carved stone tablets at the local records office will turn up that it already did.”

And he wouldn't be surprised to be the next in line, if Coop keeps staring at him without a word - he can feel the back of his neck burn.

“Only if you don't know what to seek for, Albert”, comes at last a hazy reply. “The whispers of the firs have a poetry of their own, made of low calls and longing…”

“Yeah? Call me a Futurist, then, I'd rather have my poetry on a trafficked highway, if at all.”

He turns around to find Coop smiling his little smile at him, eyebrow raised in amusement. Were they looking for the same comfort tonight? The protection of these four walls, keeping the darkness outside, and reassurance that Coop is breathing, warm, alive, that someone will always be looking out and reaching out for him, to make him forget the nameless, faceless shooter still out there? If that is the case, tonight he is safe. Albert grins back. Let this be a moment of communion. He checks his bandages again, cleaning the wound, and updates him on the latest office gossip as he works, sprinkling his best Gordon Cole impersonation all over the funniest bits. He’ll always be nervous around doctors, for reasons Albert has never felt he had a right to inquire about, but he trusts him, and if his gruff tales and trademark strings of complaints can ease off some of that tension and get him to play along, then it's all good, it's a victory. They sit side by side, reminiscing about old cases, old hotels. The night is theirs.

  
  


An hour must have gone by before Dale Cooper got struck by either the light of common sense, with whatever epiphany it might have brought along regarding the aptness of showing up uninvited in people's beds, or sheer exhaustion. He offers his apologies, which are as soft and warm and proper as Albert might have expected, and leaves him with a room full of aching echoes. They drown out his voice, now lingering beyond the thick solid wood of the room’s door: Albert can hear that he is offering parting words, but he cannot make them out.

  
  


  
  
  


Coop is about to repeat them on the following morning, as they share a breakfast in the Great Northern’s bustling Timber Room. The night is long gone. They are talking about work now, and there’s the whole town around him, gripping his thoughts, seeping, trespassing into their history and their space, so he says instead: I’m glad you're with us, Albert. We need the very best.

Albert nods - it's what he is here for.

  
  


 


End file.
